


the misadventures of danyla lavellan

by junewatch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junewatch/pseuds/junewatch
Summary: What happens when a Dalish elf is thrust into a position of power, leading a religious human army? Throw a generous helpful of reluctant heroism, surprising friendships, and a wolf in pjs into the mix, and you've got yourself a good time.An exploration of headcanons progressing through the plot of Inquisition. Canon compliant.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Kudos: 3





	the misadventures of danyla lavellan

Haven was bustling for a weekend. Inquisition soldiers sparred in the camps by the lake, workers scurried to and from the blacksmith and the quartermaster tent laden with wooden crates, and a gaggle of women huddled around one of the larger campfires, mending a pile of clothes. Every so often, one of the women would put a few garments into a basket and carry it down to the lake. Other baskets and a washboard sat beside a small hole in the ice. Danyla emerged from the apothecary with a bundle of herbs, which she tucked into the satchel at her side. 

She quietly walked down to the lake, ignoring the hails of the passerby and keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the ground in front of her. Her left hand tickled teasingly. The Mark bestowed upon her by some unlucky feat tended to flare up when she was outside, but Danyla had no intention of hiding indoors. The Breach overhead needed closure, but she was in no position to close it. She was Dalish, surrounded by worshippers who wanted her executed not three days before. Danyla’s thoughts were interrupted as an unforeseen wall halted her pace and then crumpled, falling with an armful of firewood. She cursed under her breath and picked herself up from the ground, scowling at a farmer with a bushy brown mustache and a receding hairline.

“Watch where you’re going!” he grumbled, turning his attention to the fallen firewood.  
Danyla cared little about the firewood becoming damp in the snow, he should have stepped out of her way. She quickly checked to make sure her satchel had not been disturbed and shot a dark look at the farmer before stepping over him. She did not look over her shoulder for his reaction.

The soldiers were already sparring outside of their tents. Cullen watched them studiously, glancing up as the Herald passed behind him. She was following the path counter-clockwise around the lake. A woman walked ahead of her, carrying linens in a basket. There was a larger hole in the ice on the far side of the lake, surrounded by washboards and women. Many of the women wielded sticks and beat away at their laundry before submerging it in the cold water. Danyla noticed there was room for her to join them. She approached the women and made careful steps to not slip on the icy surface, kneeling before an empty space. The women immediately erupted into murmurs and averted glances, but Danyla simply raised a hand in greeting.

“If it’s no trouble, I’d like to join you,” she said, attempting a smile. Humans relaxed around smiles and compliments and some martyred lady, she didn’t quite understand it.  
A woman with dark hair and brown eyes smiled at her in return.  
“It would be our honor, Herald of Andraste.”

Ugh, there it was again. Why couldn’t she just be Danyla, First of Clan Lavellan? Oh, right. She’d tried telling them that, when she was first imprisoned. They wanted her head. Maybe just stick with Herald, if it would save her life….

Danyla opened her satchel and removed the bundle of herbs she had requested from Adan.  
The lavender wasn’t fresh, but it might still retain its disinfecting properties. It smelled nice, at least. She next removed yesterday’s tunic, a simple tan garment she had worn to the Conclave. Her leather vest was in her room, but Danyla didn’t want to lug it out this morning. 

When she had closed the first rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she had fallen ill for three days, the human healers had done the liberty of changing her outfit into whatever they had on hand, but it was a size small. Danyla had borrowed a jacket from a soldier to make her a little more comfortable. She made a mental note to ask the quartermaster for one of her own later. 

Danyla frowned at her reflection in the icy water. Her red hair was knotted in a braid taught to her by her mother, yet two stubborn strands tumbled in front of her ears. Her skin was pale in the snow, made paler still by the blood red markings of Sylaise sprouting across her features. Hazel eyes and bushy eyebrows completed the look. Her nose and tips of her ears were pink from the cold. She wore a grey belted tunic and a stiff leather jacket with dark leather footwraps. Danyla longed for an opposum trim, but the jacket was borrowed, and besides, she didn’t like asking for favors from strangers. Especially strangers who were eager to please.

She dunked her tunic in the water, immediately wishing she had worn gloves and wincing at how the frigid sensation prompted a protest from the marked hand. But she could live with a few muscle cramps, and continued soaking the garment in the water. When she was satisfied, she removed it and lay it on the ice next to her. She rolled the lavender into a ball and worked it onto the garment, taking extra time on the dirt stains and occasionally pressing excess water out of the tunic. After a while, she paused and turned to the dark haired woman who had addressed her. She gestured at the stick the woman was holding.  
“Could I borrow that?”  
The woman looked up from her laundry with a sheepish smile.  
“Of course, Herald.”  
Danyla accepted the short stick from the woman and started beating away at her tunic just as she observed the women doing before. It was slow going, but the dirt seemed to loosen its grip from the garment. After a few more rinses and methodical whacks with the stick, it was becoming satisfactory. Danyla passed the stick back to the woman who was watching her quietly and mumbled a thanks. 

Danyla twisted the tunic in her hands, keenly aware of the shiver starting to have a mind of its own, and slung the clean garment over her shoulder. She returned the unused lavender to her satchel with fumbling fingers and decided she ought to find a campfire before she continued with her day. She walked back to Haven, eyes front this time but attention a thousand miles away to where familiar elves were likely doing their laundry and wondering what had happened to their errand girl.

Varric was standing in front of the fire as he always did, warming his hands. Danyla joined him, stamping her feet in the snow to shake the pins and needles sensation and relishing the warmth the blaze gave off.

“Hey, Herald.”  
“Hello, Varric.”  
  
Varric was watching her, obviously expecting her to launch into a conversation, but a new noise captured her attention. It sounded like a mixture of a crunching yelp and a dying cat, punctuated every so often with a crisp disharmonious note. Danyla kept her gaze on the fire but wondered who on earth would possibly mutilate the delicate sound of a violin? They’re learning, she thought, but as the noise grew louder and more desperate, faster with its squeaks and protests, Danyla gritted her teeth. That instrument should not belong to them, they don’t have the right, if they’re going to play like that, she thought. They’re learning, a voice insisted, but Danyla pushed it away.  
  
“I’m going to find something to eat,” she told Varric.  
“Sounds good, I’ll be here,” the dwarf replied, and Danyla left him to walk towards the Chantry.  
  
The violinist was in the opposite direction, but Danyla didn’t want to give Varric an idea of what she was doing. She circled Haven, trying her best to look innocuous, narrowing her eyes when the ‘music’ stopped. A brown pigtailed girl with pigtails burst out of a nearby cabin to chase after the farmer bearing another load of firewood. Gotcha, Danyla thought, smiling as the little one passed her by. She quickly entered the cabin and cast her gaze around the small living space. An abandoned fireplace with a healthy amount of wood on a shelf nearby, a double bed beside it….and there it was, sitting on a plain table by the window. Danyla quickly plucked the violin from its resting place and tucked it under her jacket, ignoring the pang of guilt that sank deep in her gut. The girl can’t play, she thought, it's better off in my hands. She left the cabin quickly, darting her eyes about for anyone that might have seen her exit, but no one seemed to be around. Danyla returned to the Chantry now, passing by the apothecary and grinning at Adan. The damp tunic on her shoulder was giving her a chill, but she could change in the safety of her room...and hide the instrument for a later time. As she approached the Chantry’s doors, she saw Varric loitering at the quartermaster’s tent, bent over a pot of stew. She was sure it would be filling, if a bit bland, but Danyla would eat later. She pushed the double doors open with one hand, cradling the stolen instrument with her other hand and hoping the bulge in her jacket wasn’t too noticeable.

**********

It was nightfall when Danyla procured the violin from the bottom of her chest of drawers. It was a plain instrument, but she was sure it could sing under the right touch. She examined the bow with a critical eye. The child had been so delighted to play an instrument, she forgot all about the proper maintenance. The strings were much too tight, for starters. Danyla marveled the bow hadn't snapped under the pressure it must have been under. She ran a hand along the bow's hairs, wincing at how dry they were. Surely there was rosin somewhere? Perhaps some hardened pine sap...maybe Adan had something like it in his stores. She donned her jacket and took violin and bow in one hand, leaving her staff propped by the bed. A nightly stroll, she told herself. Nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
Haven was brightly lit for nightfall. The Breach cast an eerie glow over the settlement, washing snow and cabin and sneaking Herald in a green light. She was no hunter, but she could force herself to slow her steps, and it took all her patience not to sprint to her destination. Solas's cabin was situated next to her destination, but she paid it no mind. He talked about the Fade so much, he was probably deep asleep. No, she was more focused on the loud snoring emitting from the apothecary. The door was unlocked, to Danyla's great pleasure, and she wondered who else was foolish with their security. The potion crafting station against the wall sat tantalizingly close, but Adan was draped in his bed not a meter away. She sidled up to the table with great trepidation, wondering if he was accustomed to lingering in the Fade as well as Solas. But he snored on, hand on his chest, legs splayed carelessly, and it didn't seem like he would be a bother. So Danyla quickly studied the potion table, examining vials of liquid and simple wooden boxes situated alphabetically. A box small enough to fit in the palm of her hand caught her attention, and she plucked it gingerly from atop the other ingredients. She quickly undid the latch and peered inside after a quick glance at the sleeping potionmaster. Sure enough, it contained the rosin she needed. Danyla quickly fled the building with her two prizes in tow. She retreated down to the lake in front of the stables, where she perched on the rock and set the violin on her lap.  
  
With great haste she flicked open the rosin box and rubbed it against the surface of the bow strings, making methodical long swipes. The movement was immediately comforting, but was almost immediately matched with a pang of guilt. Theft did not go unpunished amongst the Dalish. But she wasn't with her clan at the moment.  
  
Once the bow was greased to her satisfaction, she tucked the box back into her tunic and started tuning the violin. She was grinning now, thrilled at the prospect to play. How long had it been? She could imagine elves around the campfire clapping along to a tune she played while another elf accompanied her with a flute. She also imagined her Keeper frowning. It is not yours, da'len, she would say. Make peace for your mistake, and offer penance to the gods.  
"I'll apologize later," Danyla mumbled, shouldering the violin. She began to play a lullaby, loud enough only for the melody to float to her ears. It wavered and gasped as she winced at the volume and attempted to move the bow with a lighter stroke, but she knew the sweet spot was what she had done originally. So Danyla sucked in a breath and started again, improvising a melancholic tune that captured her anxiety about the Breach and frustrations with the well-meaning but irritating shems and the feeling of disconnectedness from her clan. She played and played, losing herself to the lilting melody, the movement of her shoulders, memories of a time before.  
  
Her ears pricked at movement behind her, and she paused, smile evaporating as the guilt came back full force. She turned her head to see the mustached farmer frowning at her, arms crossed. His little girl peered at her from behind his leg, clinging to his crumpled tunic.  
  
"Herald," he began, and his voice was thick from sleep. "I did not think you would stoop so low to petty thievery. But then again," he sighed. "I should have expected as much from an elf."  
  
The man didn't sound angered so much as disappointed, which should have caused Danyla some relief. But the pigtailed girl had clearly been crying. How long had they been looking? Danyla swallowed hard, gripping the violin tightly in her hands. It is not yours, da'len, Keeper Deshanna's voice rang in her head, and she looked up at the farmer, trying to school her face into a neutral expression.  
  
"I was going to return it," she lied, balking at the farmer's reaction. Now he looked angry. "I-I-I didn't know this meant so much to the girl."  
  
The girl looked up at her father with wide, pleading eyes, and he held out his hand expectantly.  
  
"Just because you were touched by the heavens doesn't give you the right to do whatever you want," The farmer growled. He kept a steady gaze on Danyla, much to her discomfort.  
  
"You may be Herald, but you're still a common criminal to me."  
  
Danyla blinked rapidly at the comment. This shem's words shouldn't affect her at all, he was less than nothing. But that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? She was abusing her power as Herald?  
  
She rose to her feet, guilt heavy in her gut. She passed the farmer the violin and bow with trembling fingers, who quickly accepted it.  
  
"Ir abelas," Danyla said, wishing he would stop looking at her, "I just wanted to play."  
  
The farmer raised his eyebrows at the elven phrase, and she quickly added, "I'm sorry. It means, 'I'm sorry.'"  
  
Danyla did not wait for him or the girl to reply. She dropped the rosin box and sprinted back to the safety of the Chantry, the chill of more than the cold hanging heavy on her shoulders. 


End file.
